


At Odds

by kosmickway (KMDWriterGrl)



Category: Profiler
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-05
Updated: 2014-04-05
Packaged: 2018-01-18 05:25:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1416727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KMDWriterGrl/pseuds/kosmickway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A post-ep for the season 3 episode “Heads, You Lose” in which the team goes to Miami to trace a serial killer. Bailey sends Grace to her mother’s cigar shop to procure cigars AND mend fences with her mother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	At Odds

“Why you would antagonize a woman who works with saws and scalpels for a living I will never know!”

 

Grace thrust the box of cigars at Bailey, along with the $50 he’d given her. “Here. Compliments of Estrella Alvarez, the most damn stubborn woman I’ve ever met.”

 

“And now we know where you get it from.” Bailey chuckled and then winced at the glare Grace shot him.

 

“Malone, now is NOT the time.”

 

Bailey laid a hand on her arm. “Easy, Grace, I’m just trying to ruffle your feathers a bit.”

 

“You did enough of that when you sent me back in there to talk to my mother.”

 

“Did it help?”

 

“Do you _think_ it helped?” Grace paced angrily in the motel room doorway until Bailey ushered her inside. “We’ve been like oil and water since I can remember. She hates the fact that I didn’t stay in Miami and raise kids and use my medical degree for something ‘useful’ like pediatric medicine. She thinks I’m abnormal because of what I do.”

 

“We have to be a little bit abnormal to do what we do, Gracie. You have to admit that.”

 

“Okay, yeah, it’s a bit strange that I prefer dead patients to live ones. I can admit that I get more pleasure out of a good chemical analysis than most people do out of a best selling novel. But that’s no reason for her to accuse me of abandoning my family. I left Miami because I had to.”

 

“Because of the job at APD?”

 

“Because I couldn’t stay here after the Amnesty Towers bombing. After losing my best friend.”

 

Bailey studied her carefully. “I didn’t know you knew anyone in the Amnesty Towers bombing. I knew you worked it but–“

 

“I’ve only told Sam and George– Sam because she pushed my buttons and George because I tell him everything.”

 

“And now you’re telling me because–“

 

“Because you made me go back in there and face my mother and this is the end result.”

 

“Fair enough.” Bailey sat down in the desk chair, gesturing for her to perch on the end of the bed. He opened the window, lit a cigar and puffed, a slow grin crossing his face as the smoke hit his lungs. “Nothing like a good Cuban. Thanks, Grace.”

 

“I’m glad someone is getting some pleasure out of this visit.”

 

“You could, too, if you’d try to make peace with your–“ The red-hot glare she sent him had him immediately backing off. “Okay, just saying.”

 

“You can say it till the cows come home, Malone, and you’ll never get the satisfaction of seeing me reconcile with my mother.” She stood up and began pacing around the room again. “I want to hit something, thanks to you, and there’s nothing around here I can hit without incurring hotel charges.”

 

Bailey snuffed the Cuban, carefully put the half-smoked cigar back in its wrapper, and tucked it away in the box. “Actually there is. Got some exercise gear?”

 

“Why?”

 

“Get it and come with me.”

 

The gym was small and somewhat seedy looking, but it had a punching bag and that’s the only thing Bailey cared about.

 

When Grace came out of the locker room, Bailey was waiting for her by the heavy bag, hands already taped up and gloves at the ready.

 

“You ever go at one of these before?”

 

“Once or twice at Quantico,” she replied.

 

“How about a speed bag?”

 

“No.”

 

“Let me show you.”

 

With quick, powerful jabs, Bailey set the speed bag humming as he worked it with his fists. Grace would normally have been appreciating the figure he cut if she weren’t still so damn angry. So instead she focused on technique instead of form– his form– and soon was raring to go at the bag herself.

 

“Hold on, slugger,” Bailey said, laughing, as she made a move toward the bag. “Tape your hands first or you’ll pay for it tomorrow.” He took her hands and began to wind tape around them, covering her wrist to knuckles. “Now give it a go.”

 

Grace took a swing at the bag and set it spinning. She jabbed again with her opposite hand, then again, until she had a rhythm going, clumsy but manageable. She kept it up, jab after jab until she could feel sweat starting to run down her face and her arms starting to sing with tiny shocks of discomfort.

 

“Not bad,” Bailey said approvingly. “Heavy bag next?”

 

“Yeah.” Grace moved over to it. “This one I know.”

 

“Good. Go ahead.”

 

Needing no more prompting than that, Grace took a swing at the bag and then another. She added a kick and fell into a rhythm– jab, jab, kick, jab, jab, kick. She swung out with all her might, sending the bag rocking on its chain. She danced around it, pretending it was a moving opponent, throwing all of her anger into the momentum of punching and kicking. But it wasn’t enough. She gave the bag one last jab for good measure and swiped at the perspiration beading on her forehead.

 

“Want to spar, Malone?”

 

Bailey’s lips quirked in a grin. “You sure about that?”

 

“You think I can’t take it?”

 

“Oh Gracie, I know you can take it. I’m just not sure I can.”

 

Grace gave him a feral grin, half teasing, half serious. “You afraid to fight a girl, Malone?”

 

“Not at all.”

 

“Might be fun.”

 

“Oh, no doubt.” Bailey shrugged. “All right then. Let’s go.”

 

He moved up into the raised ring and held out a hand. She clambered up on her own, eschewing the offer of help. He grinned. She was in rare form today, all feral grace and contained energy. It was alluring to see her so wound up.

 

“Don’t go easy on me,” Grace ordered, taking an experimental jab at the air.

 

“Same goes.”

 

“I don’t mean to.”

 

“Show me what you’ve got then.”

 

Grace started with a right hook that he was easily able to block. He gave a cross-counter with his lead hand and watched, impressed, as she danced away from it, bringing her gloves up to protect her face. He jabbed several times at her midsection, trying to bring her gloves down from her face, and found himself on the receiving end of a short straight punch as she moved in closer. He was surprised enough by that that he didn’t even try to pull his punch and ended up catching her right in the torso with one of his jabs. He stopped short and pulled back.

 

“Dammit, Grace, I’m sorry.”

 

“I said don’t take it easy on me,” she ground out, leaning over with her hands on her knees. “You said you’d spar with me, so let’s do it.”

 

They began again, neither pulling punches this time. Grace landed a few good blows on his shoulders and back as they danced around each other. He tried hard not to land his punches, knowing he was far more capable of hurting her than she was of hurting him.

 

Their bout ended after ten minutes. Grace, backing away from an uppercut of Bailey’s, stepped back too fast and rolled her ankle, landing with a thud on the mat.

 

“Fuck!” she swore, holding her ankle.

 

Bailey dropped to her side instantly. “Are you okay?”

 

“Yes, dammit, I’m fine. I was just about to knock the ever-living hell out of you!”

 

It was all Bailey could do not to laugh at the look of frustration on her face. “I don’t doubt it. You pack a hell of a wallop.”

 

She looked up at him then, sweat rolling down her temples. “That felt good.”

 

“Beating the hell out of something always does.” He rolled his shoulders. “I’m going to have bruises there tomorrow, Ace.”

 

“Nothing you don’t deserve.” She grinned at him, but it was easier, sweeter, more what he was used to seeing on her face.

 

“You’re probably right.” He gestured at her ankle. “Want me to look?”

 

“Doctor,” she reminded him sardonically.

 

Grace held out her hands so he could pull her gloves off. He did and she flexed her taped fingers.

 

“I’m starved. How about a shower and then some food? There’s good Cuban on every corner around here.”

 

Bailey laughed at her quick change of mood. “You’re a hell of a woman, Gracie.”

 

He took her hands and pulled her up off the mat, relishing the contact as she leaned against him before putting her weight on her hurt ankle. She grinned saucily up at him and it was all he could do not to push her hair away from her face and kiss her.

 

“Don’t you ever forget it, Malone.”

 

Not likely, he thought as they headed for the locker rooms. Not likely at all.

 

END.  

 


End file.
